


finding tarnished stars

by The_Shame_Basement



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Biting, Bulges and Nooks, Caretaking, Double Penetration, Drunk Sex, Earth C (Homestuck), Flushed-Pitch Vacillation, Gillplay, Grinding, Large insertions, M/M, Multi, Pale-Flushed Vacillation, Plot With Porn, Praise Kink, Prophecies, Size Difference, Size Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, hangovers, self-fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-04 11:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Shame_Basement/pseuds/The_Shame_Basement
Summary: Sometimes you don't get to choose how things play out in life.Sometimes that's a better thing than you realize.





	1. flashback

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roundandtalented](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roundandtalented/gifts).



> your prompts were all so hard to choose from– I hope you enjoy this!

“Are you _certain_ this is a good idea, Mituna?”

His breath billowed in the cold air, catching the colored light from Mituna’s eyes as they flickered over to him. Under other circumstances, the sparkle in his gaze might’ve been charming; right now, paired as it was with a toothy smile, it was more than a little disquieting.

“Yes. It’s been like two sweeps already since you busted me out, and I want to _celebrate_ that and I also haven’t had soporifics since then and _Kankri_ , c’mon, you can’t live under Rosa’s thumb forever, I was a fucking _slave_ and I still got to drink.”

“I do on Twelfth Perig--”

Mituna scoffed. “Twelfth Perigee’s Eve, yeah, we know, we all saw you got rip-roaring _slammed_ off your plush little ass last sweep. Seemed like you were having a lot of fun, as a matter of fact.”

 

A silence hung between them for a few moments.

“I… suppose I did. I don’t exactly recall.”

“My point _exactly._ ” A wide grin split the early-morning air. Kankri glanced away and sighed, sending a cloud into brief being. Mituna’s fingers wiggled; tiny sparks danced through it, ending at his lips in a brush of contact not unlike a kiss.

Kankri’s mouth twitched, trying to hide a smile. Eventually he took a step forward, then another, until they were walking side by side through the grass. Frost crunched under their feet. In the distance, at the edge of the field, the lights of a small town could be seen. They’d never been this far north before, and it was the advent of the dark season. Kankri’s cloak was hardly a match for the chill setting in around them.

They hustled across the field and ducked into the first tavern they saw: a modest little establishment of wood and stone, with dingy bioplastic tabletops and a long bar lined with stools. The clientele was mostly lowbloods; a number of them glanced up at Mituna and Kankri when they entered, but looked quickly back down at their drinks when Mituna’s eyes flashed. People in small towns knew to mind their business around psionics, even when trolls with suspiciously red eyes were concerned.

 

The two of them settled down at the far end of the bar and received a mug of strong wine each; Kankri wrinkled his nose at the first sip, but Mituna downed a mouthful without blinking. A second swallow followed, and then a third, and by the time Kankri went in for a second attempt Mituna was already more than halfway through his cupful.

This was roughly how the next half-hour progressed.

 

Having drunk about as much as their budget allowed for, they sat there like that together, talking and laughing. Kankri proselytized a little to the bartender. Mituna put on a lights show for the hell of it and received a few tips in response, which went immediately towards another cup of wine for them to share. Maybe not the best decision, but it seemed like a good one at the time.

They sat in their own personal haven for what felt like hours, nights, forever. For the first time it felt _safe_ , like they could finally let their guard down.

That quickly changed.

Kankri was the first to notice it. A slave’s instincts of danger are usually good, but a lifetime spent on the run and liable to be culled on sight made those instincts a sight better.

A tall, dark, stormy figure ducked to fit through the low doorway. Glints of violet shone off a jeweled cape-clasp; jagged lines showed starkly, etched into an oil-slick carapace shoulderpiece.

Two violet eyes raked across the room, burning like unholy flames underneath a scarred brow.

 

The tension that swept through the place was palpable. Every patron sat up a little straighter in their seats– even the really far-gone ones– and the bartender fumbled to catch a mug she’d almost dropped. Kankri and Mituna felt it more acutely than most. Mituna’s horns started reflexively sparking; Kankri groped around behind his head to pull up his hood, forgetting the horn-holes and ending up with it askew.

It didn’t make a difference. Those burning eyes had been fixed on them the second they moved.

 

The Orphaner Dualscar strode into the bar and took a seat at the counter, three seats out from the Signless and his consort. He stared them down, elbows on the table, glinting claws pricking just barely into the wood. With his salt-tousled hair and broad shoulders, he could’ve passed for some kind of celebrity if it weren’t for the long-healed gashes down the side of his face.

Mituna and Kankri stared fixedly down at their drinks, unmoving.

 

The bar was silent. The air had been sucked straight out of the room.

 

Finally, the Orphaner turned to the bartender and spoke in a resonant, accented voice.  
“Double whiskey with lime.”

He received it in a cut-crystal glass, and sipped idly while he stared into the middle distance.

To the side, Kankri– already much too drunk to be dealing with something like this- sat as still as he could manage, trying not to hyperventilate or make noise or do much of anything at all. Mituna was doing the same thing beside him, as far as he could tell.

Gradually the murmur of the bar resumed, but it was subdued. Every so often, a pair of wary eyes would glance over a shoulder toward the hulking figure at the counter.

Bit by bit, as nothing happened and the crystal glass of whiskey emptied and became two, then three, Kankri started to regain his nerve. Possibly it was the ill-advised kind of nerve that came along with being more than a few glasses of wine into the morning, but then again, he was a few too many glasses of wine into the morning to be able to tell one way or the other.

He moved in his seat and glanced over to the Orphaner, only to hear Mituna hiss “What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?”

“I can _do_ this, Mituna,” he whispered right back. Before either of them could do anything else, they were cut off by a low rumble thrumming under the tenor murmurings of the room.

 

“I can hear you, y’know.”

“Haha, fuck,” said Mituna, and stood up to leave. Kankri stayed put. There was something in the Orphaner’s eyes– in his posture, in the way his scarred fingers gripped the glass– that transfixed him. It was hard to look away.

“I’m– sorry, sir, we didn’t mean any-- anything by it, we were just, ah, just wondering what brings you out here so far from the sea.”

“On a mission.”  
His voice was gruff and clipped, and did not invite further conversation. Kankri didn’t appear to care. “What sort of mission?”

“ ‘M _huntin’_ , what else, are you not familiar wit’the position of _Orphaner?”_

“ _Ka--_ _dude, come on_ ,” hissed Mituna, “we can’t stay here, your– uh, your lusus’s expecting us.”

“No,” said Kankri, taking Mituna’s hand and squeezing it hard, “I think we’re fine right here, actually. Aren’t we, friend-of-mine?”

 _“Yes!”_   It came out as a squeak, and Mituna tugged his hand hastily away and rubbed at it. The Orphaner gave a huff that might’ve been amusement or derision.  
Kankri turned in his seat to face him.

 

“And I don’t suppose you’d be inclined to elaborate about, ah, the details of your hunting adventure?” He toyed with the hem of his cloak, showing off surprisingly-well-manicured claws, filed down to neat nubs to match the even fangs and the single horn that showed from under his hood. The Orphaner’s eyes roved over him, and his expression shifted slightly; still unreadable, but a different unreadable than before.

“Not particularly. It would seem I’m at a disadvantage, though. You seem to know so much about me, an’ yet I’ve not got the faintest of a foggy clue about you.”

Mituna’s eyebrows shot up, but he stayed silent.

Kankri took his time coming up with the words.

 

“Ah, yes, well, be that as it may, or– well, I should say, if that indeed happens to be true, I understand your plight and am more than sympathetic to it, this is a bar full of strangers, after all, and I know just as well as anyone how profoundly uncomfortable it can be to, ah, to find yourself in a position such as the one you mentioned where– where one’s reputation precedes them to a certain degree in some cases or, or some situations, but–”  
“Deeps alive, you really don't shut up.”

Kankri blinked, gaping like a fish, caught completely off-guard by both the interruption and the comment itself.

“Well, I–”  
“Just can it for a mornin', guppy. I mean you no harm. Least not for the time bein’, and in that vein, I suggest you watch yourself an’ your luminescent lil’ friend there.”

He turned back to his drink and ignored them. Or so it seemed– Kankri could see the tilt of his earfin towards them, like a purrbeast pretending it doesn’t see you.

 

The tiniest hint of a grin appeared on his face, and he snatched his glass back up and downed the rest of the contents before draping his top half artfully over the bartop and reaching over to tap on the Orphaner’s arm.

The Orphaner jerked at the touch, and whipped back around with the beginnings of a snarl already starting to form. Kankri didn’t flinch a single whit.  
Instead, he stared up at him with big eyes, knowing full well the Orphaner could see the scarlet in them from here.

“Perhaps we got off on the wrong walkstub, sir. If I may be permitted another try at making your acquaintance?”

The Orphaner stared back, alarmed.

 

“...What?”

 

Kankri extended his hand and rested it– fire-hot and tiny in comparison– on top of the Orphaner’s, curling around to pick it up gently and hold.

“It is my _deepest_ honor to finally meet you, Orphaner. I’ve heard so _much_ about you, and I mus- must say, your in-person self more than lives up to the stories.”

He raised the Orphaner’s huge, scarred hand to his lips, and kissed it with the barest hint of a smile.

“I am at your service, sir.”

 

The Orphaner didn’t outwardly react, or at least not verbally, but his fins twitched somewhat. He was rendered silent for several seconds. There was an added gruffness to his voice.

“Well, I… can’t say as I expected that one. Was gave to believe you harbored– er, held some animosity towards the likes a’ me and my kind.”

“Of course not, sir– may I call you Dualscar?–, sir, I love all trollkind equally. Particularly such _radiant_ individuals such as yourself. You know, my mo– um, my lusus used to say- er, used to give me books about how you can tell when someone’s truly _good_ deep down. You can see it shining through their eyes, and just– through everything about them. You can see it in them no matter what they’re like on the outside.”  
The Orphaner gave a snort, and this time it was clearly one of amusement. “And you feel that way about me, I take it?”

“Yes!” He answered earnestly, squeezing the Orphaner’s hand beween both of his. Behind him, Mituna smacked his hip, but Kankri didn’t appear to notice or care. “Yes, I absolutely do. I’m not sure… um, what sort of situation you’re in right now, or what kinds of Imperial directives and issues of questionable morality you may or may not be embroiled in– but deep down I think you’re _good_ , Dualscar.”  
“If you’re lookin’ for mercy, this isn’t the p–”

“ _We’re not looking for mercy._ ”

 

Both Kankri and Dualscar blinked at the sudden snap of Mituna’s voice.

“Frankly, I’m not sure _what_ we’re looking for in the first place, seeing asth– as we _were_ having a perfectly nice morning out until _someone_ decided to chat up the Orphaner, but c'est la fuckin' vie, I guess. Anyhow, it’s fantastic to meet you, we're your biggest fans, etc., etc. Please continue to not shoot us.”

To their combined disbelief, the Orphaner’s lips twitched.

“Depends on whether you piss me the fuck off.”

“Right, right. Yeah, gotcha.”

Mituna glanced down at his mug, found it empty, and rested his chin on his hand. Kankri, for his part, was nowhere near done with the conversation.

He took hold of Dualsar’s hand (he’d never really let go of it) and placed it against his throat.

Dualscar’s eyes widened. His fingers twitched just a fraction of an inch against that heated skin.

“Kill me.”

_“What?”_

It came from both Mituna and Dualscar at once, and they were both too startled to comment on it. The patrons around them fell deathly silent.

Kankri repeated himself, patient as the grave.

“Kill me, sir. I’ve had a good life, I’ve loved so much and made so many friends and touched so many people so profoundly. I’m at peace. If you’re hunting me, here I am. Take my life as you must.”

 

“Kankri, _no_ –” Mituna was too worked up to not use Kankri’s name, but he was quickly arrested by a sharp swat to the knee. Kankri’s gaze didn’t falter as it met Dualscar’s.

Dualscar, for his part, looked more tired than anything.

His hand rested there against Kankri’s throat for five seconds, then ten, then fifteen, as the bar patrons around them waited with bated breath to see the Signless– and that was who he was, there was no mistaking that red-stitched cloak and leggings– get culled where he sat by the Imperial Orphaner himself.

 

Fifteen, twenty, and– his hand fell away.

He took it back, brushed it off on his pants like Kankri’d gotten dirt on it, and took a decisive swig of his drink. He didn’t speak.

Mituna let out a long-held breath.

 

A moment or two passed while the entire bar collected themselves.

 

Then Kankri was sliding off his stool and sliding onto the one directly next to Dualscar, resting a hand on his wrist again to get his attention– but this time he didn’t pull away when Dualscar turned.

“Thank you, sir. I plan to put the gift you’ve graciously given me to good use.”

His hand slid up that broad arm to play over the shoulder spikes of his armor, and his voice had more than a little purr to it when he spoke.

“As a matter of fact, I just might suggest kicking off my new lease on life by getting to know your handsome self just a little better. Would you be amenable to that, sir?”

 

Mituna, who’d finally caught on (or maybe that last cup of wine’d just taken a little longer to hit) sidled over to Dualscar’s other side; not touching him yet, but making sure his presence was felt.

“Make that two of us, _sir._ ” Audible sarcasm on that last word, but still.

 

The side of Dualscar’s mouth tilted up in the kind of expression a man like him never made sober. “Well, this is a whole ‘nother angle, isn’t it? If I pay extra, do I get to have my way with the jadeblood too?”

Kankri’s jaw tightened, and for a moment or two, it looked like he was about to get up and leave right then and there. But his eyes darted to the side and locked with Mituna’s for a split second, and Mituna knew the expression in those eyes like the back of his hand.

His expression said _I’m strong, I can do this._

His expression said _I’m not afraid._

His expression said _I will do what it takes to survive._

And he leaned in and toyed with the buckle at the side of Dualscar’s chestplate, and stared up at him with blazing-red eyes through his eyelashes, and bit his full lower lip with a faint grin.

“You’d have to take that up with her, sir, but this round’s free as far as we’re concerned.”

 

Dualscar glanced Kankri over, then turned to look to Mituna, and his fins did that odd flicker again, framing his blank expression apart from a slight tension through the jaw.

Finally, he broke eye contact and glanced up to the heavens with a sigh.

An arm slid around each of them, and Kankri veritably _purred_ as he snuggled himself right up to the Orphaner’s side.

 

* * *

 

The Orphaner picked up their tab like the gentleman he was, and Kankri made sure his gratitude was felt. He did this by climbing into Dualscar's lap and plastering himself against that vast unyielding chest like white to a lusus’ hide, straddling one of those broad thighs and kissing at his neck and jaw right there in the middle of the bar.

Mituna, not to be outdone, slid a hand up his other thigh and left biting sparks of energy across it where his fingers touched. When Dualscar's leg tensed under the contact, he grinned and nibbled at the bottom-most point of his fin. Dualscar groaned soft and a little broken, and they in turn answered and humored him. When he tilted his head drunkenly back, they kissed it like any of them believed there was no chance of someone tearing out another’s throat.

 

It was getting to be a little much for all of them after a while. Mituna was panting and mouthing at Dualscar’s gills, which fluttered under the attention as he gasped for breath and nipped at Kankri’s swollen mouth.

Mituna watched the two of them with drowsy-drunk eyes, and even like this, he’d have to be an idiot to miss the edge behind Kankri’s expression. Kankri’d grown up at the mercy of every and any troll he came across, and Alternia wasn’t a merciful place where mutantbloods were concerned. He’d chosen to shape that lifelong fear into love, but that couldn't erase his history. He’d still been on the run as long as he’d been alive, and it showed. Even with the drowsy lust and languorous comfort of being a seadweller’s consort for a night, he could still see the slight tensing of his muscles whenever Dualscar’s broad hand came up to touch at him.

He could still see that look in the lines around his eyes.  
_I will do what it takes to survive._

 

But his hips were rocking slightly down onto Dualscar’s leg, and despite it all, it was hard to tell whether Kankri was acting. Dualscar was _pretty._ The sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbone; the waves of his hair tousled where they’d fallen away from his temple; the wry eyes that caught on Kankri’s curves and Mituna’s uneven movements; the mouth open in the caught-off beginnings of a moan.

Neither of them was faking it all the way. The bulges curling in their respective leggings certainly weren’t.

And Dualscar seemed to be more than a little into it too; his striped pants highlighted the tent at his crotch like a dream. It wasn’t like the sweet, adoring moments they’d shared with each other and Meulin; Dualscar was all predatory rumbles and unfamiliar seadweller anatomy. The salty-musky-sweet scent of him was more than enough to drive both of them wild, especially when the edges of everything were so soft and languid like this. He looked, in those moments, like a hatchright-borne emperor: wrathful and merciful in turns until they could both barely contain themselves from peeling off the shell of his armor and pressing their mouths to him everywhere they could reach.

 

He saved them from that indignity, thank god. He hauled Kankri back from his lips with a handful of hair at his nape and just chirped at him for a second or two, struggling to focus and having to nudge Mituna away from his gills when it proved too hard to focus his eyes with his tongue laving over– and  _in_ – them.

“We should take this somewhere else, huh.”  
“Mmm,” echoed Mituna. “Have sth-- somewhere in– in mind?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, and leered this incredible snarl of a grin unlike anything they’d ever seen. “Yeah, I do.”

 

When he stood, it was hard not to follow at his heel.

They made their way out– past the bartender scrambling to catch the handful of glinting caegars Dualscar tossed over– and navigated through the streets pitching and bucking like a ship in a storm under their feet, with the stars sparking and gradually starting to fade in the creeping sliver of morning light at the horizon. Was the universe rearranging itself for them tonight, or was this the omen of something too big for them to handle?

 

He led them through the streets– mostly deserted this close to daytime, they could already feel the heat on the backs of their necks– and down to the harbor. His ship was readily visible: cyan, sleek, and gorgeous; easily dwarfing the fishing dinghys and imperial patrolboats out in the bay.

A self-powered scuttlevessel motored over to them at the snap of Dualscar's ringed fingers, and Kankri clung anxiously to him while they rode. His broad hand rested at his shoulder, and a casual onlooker could be forgiven for seeing something tender in how he held him, and in how his eyes fixed on Mituna leaning over the edge and beaming at the stars reflected in the water.

They climbed aboard with some difficulty– Dualscar had the easiest time of it, he had more experience with ships and being drunk off his nub– and crossed the empty deck to his cabin.

It was easily nicer than anything either of them had ever seen. Fine wooden furniture and high-tech equipment lined the walls; gleaming rifles and swords and a _bookshelf_ , even; a gorgeous old-fashioned wardrobifier beside a vast silk-upholstered pailing platform, broader across than either of them were tall by a solid few inches.

 

Kankri’s nook clenched when he saw that platform and registered the implications, and Mituna let out a breathy trill that had Dualscar chuckling low in his chest. Both of them were afraid, still; they’d be fools not to be. But after sweeps on sweeps of being this afraid, it started to be… more manageable, maybe. The sharp edge got taken off it. And it got a little harder to remember why a gorgeous, vicious predator shouldn’t make your bulge swell in its sheath.

 

They moved to flank him, one on either side, and pulled him to the platform.

Their fingers danced over his armor, messing with the clasps until he nudged them away to do it himself. Kankri moved to stroke at his horns instead, voice warm and drowsy-thick like honey except for the insistent tone to it. Like he was giving a proper sermon.

“You’ll treat us so well, won’t you, sir?”

“Hush,” Dualscar murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Crew’s asleep below us.”

“Is that so?” Kankri grinned, looking more devious than he had any right to. “Well, in that case, I suggest you find a _very_ effective way to shut me up before I wind up– - _mmmph_ -!”

 

His eyes widened, but after a moment of hesitation, his lips closed around Dualscar’s index and middle finger like he was hatched for it.

His gaze darkened to something heavy-lidded and smoldering, and he tilted his chin up a little and started to suck, sweet as could be. One hand– tiny in comparison– came up to grip lightly at Dualscar’s wrist.

He mewled, and Mituna could see the exact moment Dualscar’s ground dropped out from under him.

 

Naturally, Mituna took advantage.

He leaned in and grabbed a handful of Dualscar’s hair and kissed him hard and rough, and then moving down to nip barely at the edge of his gills, then moving and running his tongue just under the opercula before he could move to stop him. The filaments– soft, almost satiny– fluttered against his tongue, and Dualscar moaned like he'd been shot. His hand reached down to grope at Kankri’s ass. Kankri let out a shaky sigh and arched back against his palm.

Everything was hazy and wonderful. It was hard to tell how long they spent like that, trading hungry kisses and feeling up each other’s bodies. Mituna ended up pressed against Dualscar’s side and then walking him backwards and tipping him over the platform. Kankri followed and slid a hand between Mituna’s spread legs, leaving him groaning and chirping and making overstimulated noises into Dualscar’s mouth.

Mituna eventually pulled away from the kiss with a gasp when Dualscar’s knee pressed up between his legs, and for a few moments all he could do was grind down and moan like a pupa going through its first heat.

 

He buried his face in Dualscar’s collarbone– or tried to, there was still armor in the way– and spoke breathlessly up. “What do you-- - what do I call you?”  
“Orphaner.”  
“No,” piped up Kankri, “what do we _call_ you? Give us something to _moan,_ sir. Orphaner’s not too erotic a title, no offense.”

 

Dualscar considered for a moment or two, staring up at the ceiling flushed and a little breathless.

 

“It’s Cronus. My, ah… name, that is.”

“ _Cronus,_ ” murmured Kankri, and grinned when Dualscar’s mouth fell open in a silent moan. He could see his eyes dilate at the rush of it, and it was a power trip like nothing else. He wanted more. He wanted _everything._

 

“Mnnh, fuck, Cronus, I need you so badly. _We_ need you, gorgeous, beautiful darling, just– let us make you feel so _good_ , please, we can give you so much if you’ll just let us, please, sweetheart, tell us what you want and we’ll give it to you.”

Mituna’s tongue laved flat over gillslits, refusing to press in, and Cronus trembled and grit his teeth to hold back the sound that threatened to escape. His voice came out shaky anyway.

“I don’t– nn--”

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s alright. You’re alright, we’ve got you.” Kankri slid up to press against his side again. He captured Cronus' face with deft, light fingers, turning him to meet his eyes while Mituna worked his throat over and tore choked-off whines from him. He was flushed beautifully violet across those high cheekbones, and his eyes, despite being hazy from the drink, were starting to take on that panicked look of getting far too aroused too fast to have any modicum of control over yourself.

 

“Tell me,” breathed Kankri, “what you _want._ ”

How could Cronus resist an order like that? He inhaled unsteadily, unable to break eye contact.  
“I–… I want–"

"Use your words, darling, c'mon."

"...You _._ ”

“Just me? Cronus, I don't believe–”

“ _Both_ of you, deepssakes, just– _do_ me. Do _something._ Bulge is fuckin’... chafin’ straight off here, I didn’t invw--invite you here to torture me.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart, that’s not the plan. We’re going to take such _good_ care of you.” Kankri’s hand smoothed over Cronus’ thigh, feeling it tense and relax in turns under the contact. He was clearly far more worked up than he was letting on, or maybe he was just that sensitive. “Just lay back and enjoy it, beautiful.”

 

And he did, to Kankri’s utter shock. He relaxed back against the mattress and stared at him with wide eyes, and when that scarred hand came up to grab his hair and Mituna snatched it with psii and pinned it above his head, Dualscar barely fought back. Instead he inhaled sharply, and his stomach twitched like he was trying not to curl in on himself.

 

Mituna leaned down and fumbled with the buckles on the armor, and despite some exceedingly helpful commentary from Cronus– “That’s not how you _do_ it, globes-for-brains, you– _ow-vw_ , fuckin’ hell, just– _oh,_ oh _fuck_ , h-- _aaah_ –” – managed to undo most of it and work it off him. It was discarded over the side of the platform with a clatter, revealing a snug black shirt underneath.

Mituna and Kankri stared down at him, looking like a two-troll pack of hungry wolves.

 

“Lemme just–” Mituna pushed Kankri down, leaning over Cronus to do it and making him grunt, and after a brief struggle and some crowing laughter, Mituna’s claws dug into the crotch of Kankri’s leggings and _tugged_ , exposing the wet, needy mess between his legs. His bulge was–

“– are you _fucking yourself?–_ ”

“No, of course not, what would make you _think_ such a thing, I’m merely–”

“– god, Kank, you’re so fucking needy, you’re such a little slut, you’ve been fucking yourself to your own dirty talk, you couldn’t even wait to get one of us inside you, you just needed to be filled right then and there and so you got in our laps and humped our legs and just did it yourself, huh?”

Kankri spread his legs wide and made an absolutely filthy trill to the both of them, and Dualscar looked like they’d both just smacked him straight in the face. The crotch of his pants was starting to stain violet.

The few minutes after that were somewhat of a blur. Mouths joining together; claws sinking into fabric and raking ladders down it; mumbled words of praise and reverent sounds. They were in a church, it seemed like, and the more time passed, the easier it was to just ease back and worship each other as they lay. Each of them was a small god in his own right that morning.

 

At length, Cronus found himself sandwiched between the two of them. Kankri was kissing him soft and sweet with no urgency whatsoever– but his warm little hand was stroking Cronus' bulge. He pulled back a few seconds later to whisper against Cronus' lips, and even without opening his eyes, Cronus could hear the smile on his face. "Goodness, you're a  _big_ one, aren't you?"  
He opened his eyes and growled by way of answer, but it came out weakly as his bulge wound itself up Kankri's arm. Kankri marveled, squeezing him at the base and watching him quiver and tighten around him. "You're bigger than my _wrist_ , god. And sensitive too, you could probably come just from–"

He ran a fingertip teasingly light over his length, and Cronus bucked _hard._

"– _that,_ wow. We're going to have a lot of fun with you, gorgeous thing."

Mituna was behind him and biting his neck, teasing at his nook from behind. Kankri trailed fingertips along his bulge and licked into his mouth when his moans started to get frantic. It was hard to focus. The warmth surrounding him and the hands working him over seemed more real than anything else in his life he’d done prior.

Mituna growled playfully, and Kankri pulled away to whisper thickly to him, breathing honey-sweet across his lips. The words sent chills down Cronus’ spine.

“Oh, Cronus, gorgeous, we’ll make you _ours._ You can be _mine,_ forever, c’mon, I saw it, I know this is how it goes. You’ll be mine for the rest of our lives, you’ll fuck me so good, you’ll come for us like a good boy and– _fill_ me so full, _god,_ you’ll claim me and we’ll claim you and spark a brand new _era, Cronus, god, just fuck me–_ ”

 

From anyone else it would’ve sounded like begging, but from Kankri it was an ordinance. His eyes blazed with something too bright to be real. Was it just the drink, or was there something else going on here? He didn’t know. He didn’t need to know anything except the scent of them both, before and behind him, and the _want_ hollowing him from the inside out.

He moved forward and pressed himself to him, and Kankri opened his arms and guided him in to his chest. When his bulge lapped across Kankri’s nook, they both moaned. Kankri’s bulge slid out of himself (he’d been fucking himself this whole time, and Cronus bit back a trill at that realization) and wound around the base of Cronus’, and when his hips jerked forward on reflex, Kankri reached an amazingly steady hand down between them to guide him in.

 

And if Cronus thought the foreplay was incredible, Kanrki was downright divine. He let out a veritable _purr_ as Cronus slid in further, and for a troll so much smaller than himself he didn’t seem to be having much of any trouble taking every inch of him. Matter of fact, he seemed to love being spread so wide open. His face was cast in an expression of rapture– closed eyes, soft open mouth– and when Cronus eased in further and tried an experimental coil inside him, he made a sound like _oh-!_ and gripped at his arm.

Cronus groaned and pressed his face to Kankri’s shoulder, and two warm hands held him there with all the grace and sweetness in the world. Behind him, Mituna kissed each of Kankri’s knuckles that he could reach.

After a few mind-blanking seconds of easing out of Kankri and slowly back in, Cronus felt something curl across his nook. A couple somethings, in fact. They were hot, and his body rocked instinctively back to spread his legs and show himself off when he felt them, because it knew what was happening even if he didn't.

Mituna chuckled darkly into his ear when he pushed in, and if Cronus let out a sound more submissive than any Orphaner should ever make, he couldn’t quite blame himself for it.

He _soared._

Mituna’s twin bulges curled inside him, twining around themselves and exploring his nook almost leisurely, and Cronus’ hips stuttered like an unblocked tiller, straining to fuck deeper into Kankri and back on Mituna’s cocks at the same time. He heard Mituna laughing again– distant, tinny, it didn't matter, nothing mattered but the _feeling_ – and Kankri murmured to him, stroking his hair.

“Oh, good _boy._ That’s it, sweet love, sweet darling, just fuck me, let yourself relax, Cronus, love, just let Mituna fill you up, I know you need it, I can see it in your eyes, just _relax._ ”

 

Cronus warbled, adrift, and Kankri’s hands skated across the planes of his face in the lewdest suggestion of a pap he’d ever felt. He couldn’t focus on Kankri’s face, couldn’t do anything– and for all the inches and pounds of muscle he had on both of them, he felt downright helpless in their arms.

His chest did an odd, painful thing deep inside, and he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. When Mituna lashed inside him, he viced reflexively, and when fangs closed possessively at the nape of his neck he couldn’t hold back a whimper. Kankri smiled above him, breathless and adoring, and trilled right back. It broke off into a moan when Cronus’ hips started to move in earnest.

 

Time stretched out into infinity. Whose hand was that? Which warm mouth was sucking at whose skin, whose claws and fingers were those raking across a shoulder and smoothing over it in turn? Who did those gills belong to, and who moaned sweet and yielding when they licked at them?

Did it matter?

Not in that moment. Heaven and earth stretched out before them, infinite, and the only way to mark the time that passed was the gulping cries that filled the air as each of them, individually and together, was pushed closer to the edge.

They didn’t come all at once, but it was remarkably close.

Kankri clung to Cronus’ rucked-up undershirt and cried out, rocking his hips down as much as he could to meet Cronus’ thrusts, and Mituna snarled and bit down hard enough to taste blood, and when Cronus sobbed and started to tense up and tremble, Mituna drove as deep into him as he could get and mumbled some garbled version of his name as he pumped him full of gold.

Kankri couldn’t hold out much longer when he felt Cronus spilling into him, and a few moments later, there was blazing-hot scarlet coating the both of them.

 

Things were smears of color and light after that.

Somehow they all ended up in the sopor slime together. Cronus barely had the presence of mind to wonder what his crew would think of this before drifting into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Kankri stirred awake as the sun started to brush the horizon. His face was nestled in against a cool surface, and there was a weight draped across his back and flank.

It took a few seconds for the events of the past night to sink in. When they finally did, he stiffened and opened his eyes– which was a mistake, as the faint light from the curtained windows pierced through to the back of his skull in an instant.

His stomach lurched, and his eyes landed on Mituna getting busily dressed across the room.

“ _Mituna_.”

He hissed it, and Mituna jumped and whipped around to face him.

“What are you _doing?”_

“Getting _dressed, Kankri,_ so we can _escape._ ”

Kankri blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Mituna, we are _not_ leaving _._ He needs us here, we can’t–”

“No _._ Kankri, this isn’t– he isn’t your _pet project,_ he’s the Empress’ lapbarkbeast, and we need to leave so we can _stay alive._ ”

“You’re thinking way too small, Mituna.”

Mituna faltered, confused, and Kankri pounced on the opportunity. “Don’t you understand? We could take this ship. You said it yourself, we’re being tracked; we need to lay low for awhile, and you know as well as I do this is the last place she’d look.”

"Sure, it would be, if the two of us could fight off an entire crew and an angry fish ponce."

"We won't need to fight him, Tuna, hon. Didn't you see him yesterday? He's desperate. He needs someone to pity him. He's only with the Empress because she knows to pay enough attention to him to keep him around."

Mituna was sullenly silent for a long few moments. “...I’ll stay here. You go get Rosa and Meulin. We can see what their feelings are on this.”

“No. I’m staying here. Just… trust me, Mituna. If it’s the last thing you do. Go get Mom and Meulin, just… _please.”_

 

* * *

 

Cronus woke to a personal drum concerto in his head and an absolutely foul taste in his mouth. Apart from that, nothing seemed much amiss; the light from behind the curtains was fading and throwing comfortable shadows across the floor, and the coon-warmer was cranked up nice and high like he preferred on dark-season days like this.

Wait, that wasn’t–

 

He woke up the rest of the way in the space of about a second, and opened his eyes to the Signless nestled up to his chest and gazing gently at him with a serene little smile on his face.

Cronus opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The Signless– Kankri– reached up and pressed a finger to his lips, shooshing him _(shooshing him)_ softly.

“It’s alright, Cronus. I understand this is probably a little startling for you. How much do you remember?”

“Don’t _patronize_ me, sc– -”

Kankri’s hand smoothed over his cheek, blessedly soft and warm, and Cronus melted into it without meaning to. “Shhhh, there we go. It’s alright, see? You’re alright, beautiful. I've got you, darling.”

A moment of quiet passed between them, during which Kankri papped him slow and easy and watched a dark violet blush rise under his hands.

 

Eventually, he spoke up again.

“I could do this for you if you wanted. Take care of you, pamper you, attend to your needs.” He must’ve seen the expression on Cronus’ face, because he quickly continued. “You wouldn’t need to do anything in return, we’re not trying to trick you. I just… I know I speak for both myself and Mituna when I say we very much enjoyed our day with you, and… it seems a shame to let that go for such a petty reason as all this.” He gestured to the two of them, and Cronus made to growl before sinking reluctantly back down into the slime again at the touch of his hand to his cheek.

“I realize this is all very sudden, but we’d like you to travel with us for a while, if that interests you.” He kept papping him while he talked, and as filthy and depraved as it was given the circumstances, he was finding it hard to remember why this was a bad idea.

Kankri seemed to sense his unease, because he offered a reassuring smile and settled back in to cuddle with him. “You don’t have to decide right away, sweetheart. Mituna shouldn’t be back with my family for an hour or two at least.”  
“Your _family?_ Like– your clade?”  
“Mhm.”

“You’re… bringin’ your clade here. To my ship.”  
“Yeah,” Kankri murmured, gazing up at him. “I want them to meet you.”

 

That struck Cronus silent, and he settled a little deeper into the sopor to think it through.

By the time the rest of Kankri’s clade showed up, he’d made up his mind.

 

* * *

 

_The Imperial history schoolfeeds say the infidels killed him and commandeered his ship, and thus succumbed to the same thirst for power they themselves had so despised in the Empress and her glorious Empire. The official Imperial records say they took him as their slave and paraded him around the world like the hard-won prize he was. The Empress’s private library contains a single volume of her own diaries whose contents muse, with a note of fear, whether it might’ve all been a ploy against her; whether he might’ve joined up with them on purpose._

_Only a single source exists which contains the whole truth._

_It’s old and barely legible in places, and it’s kept wrapped in linen and oilcloth in an undisclosed location. It’s written in watery black ink towards the beginning, then in various colors of fish blood. It smells of the sea._ _  
_ _It tells of a love that went beyond quadrants. On the yellowed pages, the handwriting shifts from neat looping cursive to jagged script to careful block letters to to a messy scrawl, and each hand tells the story of a cruel seadweller captain slowly falling in love with a mutant heretic and a warmblood ex-slave. They sailed across Alternia’s seas on a singularly beautiful ship, learning from one another, teaching all those they met about the possibility of a different, better world._

_They eventually came upon an island in the middle of the sea: verdant, untouched, uninhabited._

_If the stories are to be believed, they set anchor there, and the mutant infidel– the Signless, the holy Sufferer– bore brood._

 

_The Empress hunted them down for the rest of their lives, but she never saw her cruel seadweller captain or his lovers again._

 


	2. first time around

You bookmark it there, and hold your worn copy of  _ An Incomplete History of the Sufferer’s Rebellion _ in your hands for a few moments. You found it in the rubble of a lowblood’s hive after culling said lowblood’s lusus. It’s your most prized possession, and the only illegal thing you own. Not that there’s much illegal when you’re royalty, of course. Even less that’s illegal now.

You carry it with you and read it whenever you’ve got a spare moment. Feels treasonous to call it a comfort, but you’ve always taken an odd kind of solace in the plotline. When you were younger, you used to fantasize about growing up to be a real, loyal, capable Orphaner like Dualscar never was; about killing infidels and sweeping Feferi off her royal feet with your scarlet-spattered hands. You’ve mellowed out since, but it’s fun to entertain the thought sometimes. 

Or it would be, if you hadn’t seen Karkat bleed candy red on the battlefield. The Black King’s pincer caught him at his side, and his clothes were soaked like instantaneous with garish crimson– alien, unnatural,  _ wrong _ – and you–

 

– saw him go all tense, not because of the pain, but because you know he didn’t want to be ragdolling like a limp-dicked coward when you culled him. 

And you heard him shout out a curse without wanting to, from the pain of it all, just a single stupid echoing word he’d said so many times but this time it seemed to sear itself into the lining of your skull with newfound meaning, and you didn’t do jack shit except what you’d been doing, which is to say, you didn’t kill Karkat. You didn’t harm a hair on his nub-crowned head. 

And when your inevitable descent began and you snapped and launched white lightning through your heiress’s belly, and Kanaya’s, and the matriorb and everything, you turned and you saw him. 

And he saw you, and the two of you stood and saw each other raw and regal as could be. 

And the thing you saw in his eyes was nothing so much as  _ disappointment _ . 

Maybe you were projecting. 

 

When Maryam came back to life and came at you with that diabolical saw of hers, you wish you could say you stood your ground, but you didn’t. You saw that look in her eyes, and you just– ran. You turned tail and tried to abscond like the traitorous quitter you are. You suddenly wanted very much to live. 

She got you, of course. You hit the ground hard in two parts. The last thing she let you see was her heel crushing your science rod into dust before your face. 

 

Everything after that was like a dream. 

You don’t care to recount it, actually. Don’t much care to think about it either. You existed in the prison of your memories until existing felt like sandpaper on a skinned knee, and then you kept right on existing after that. Even if you hadn’t been told, you could’ve guessed the bubbles were Feferi’s fault. Nobody else– not a single soul, not on Alternia or elsewhere– could’ve come up with something so inventively cruel and had everyone on their knees saying thank-yous afterwards. 

You existed. And you watched from your windows as the bubbles around you filled with the still-moving bodies of the doomed– your friends, your loved ones from lifetimes ago– and you watched everyone not watch you, and you watched the other versions of you fall and crash and die and claw themselves apart over and over again in the only cosmic dance you’ve ever known the steps to. 

 

And you cried, when you came crashing back alive again. 

You’re not ashamed to admit it. You cried. It hurt so much. 

 

You were in grass, you remember. 

You were in grass, and there was the smell of crushed grass, and the sound of grass, and also voices. Screaming, some. Almost comforting in the moment, you’ve known the sound so long.

 

Screaming, grass, sky. 

There was sky too. 

There was you, lying in a mess of yourself on the ground, scream-crying and snotting down your face along with all the rest of them as you choked on your own air and lungs, back alive. 

Karkat’s wasn’t the first face you saw. Neither was it Feferi, or Kanaya, or anyone you knew. It was that alien, the one whose name you’ve never bothered to remember. The buck-fanged one with the symbol like curling waves. 

He offered you a hand, and you laid there and didn’t take it. 

He tried again, but Karkat shouted something to him, and he jerked upright and ran away. 

You stared up at the sky, dazed. It was brighter than you’d remembered. You hadn’t ever gotten right that shade of blue in your memories. 

 

You wish you could say they helped you to your feet and welcomed you back as the tragic hero you were, but really, you climbed up under your own power and fell over and nobody noticed because Gamzee and his trying to cull everyone on the spot was proving to be a little more interesting. 

You wish you could say the lot of you advanced to the ground of your future reward as a team. 

(You wish a lot of things.)

But the group of you’d been together for much too long and far too short a time to stay a team any longer. What happened was you escaped into the woods in all the commotion and hid there. When you’d thrown up and drunk some water from a stream, they’d vanished nearly into the distance. You’d had to have run to catch up. You didn’t, because you’d rather bubble yourself up for another aeon than give them that satisfaction. 

No, you walked. 

They saw you coming, and swords came out. Sickles, tridents. A saw. 

You turned tail and walked straight back the way you came. 

And back to the woods it was, where you drank and vomited some more and washed yourself with hands like an animal, which you might as well have been, with the way they looked at you. Mangy, probably. Feral, certainly. No place in a civilized patch of land like this. 

And so you stayed out there for nights. You didn’t know what else to do; they certainly weren’t coming to drag you back. Even if they  _ could _ track someone like you, fuckin’ useless city trolls they were, they didn’t seem inclined. 

You stripped bark off trees and ate the soft inner part, and fished for minnows and caught a handful and downed them, and drank more water than you probably ever did when you were alive the first time around. It tasted like every ounce of sin you’d brought into the world. You closed your eyes and pretended you could taste salt. 

 

And that’s how it was, for nights and days on end. 

And then next thing you knew there was a flicker of something like scarlet red around you, and the piercing shrill of something like microphone feedback in your ears, and the demure little birches around you were gone and were suddenly vast pines instead. Your pant legs were wet; the stream had become a broad river. It felt like your whole body’d been whip-cracked into a new dimension. You ached all over. 

You extricated yourself and made your way back to the field, and when you saw a sprawling city in its stead, you knew you’d really fucked up. 

You’d walked into the city in time to see the tail end of some kind of parade, and your entire ex-team was bundled onto floats and being shown off in the streets. With your cape gone and the forest muck all over you, you certainly didn’t look like you belonged up there with them. Moreso like some kind of vagrant come to marvel at the new gods. Just another awestruck worshipper. 

And in that moment, that’s what you wanted. Not a single one of them noticed you standing there as they passed by you. 

 

You wandered the streets for a while after that. Nobody seemed to recognize you, or pay you mind apart from how you scared their spawn or menaced too large for their tastes. The realtor you eventually talked to must have known, though, or at least have had some kind of inkling, because when you shuffled bedraggled and filthy into his office and murmured with guilt curling in your sac if you could maybe have a hive, please, he gave you one. 

Maybe that’s just how things work on this planet. You don’t know. You don’t care enough to find out. 

 

It’s a nice enough place, you guess. It keeps the rain off. There’s a fridge and a sink with water in it. (They don’t use coons here, you’ve had to beg off sopor patches from some  _ very _ unsavory characters, which you do  _ not _ care for but to be perfectly honest it’s getting harder not to sympathize with the fuckers when you’re living like this.) You sort of have enough to eat. Don’t have much money, but whoever put this world together must have had the be-all and end-all of bleeding hearts because you get a weekly stipend just by virtue of being  _ alive _ . It’s not much to live on, but maybe you’re just in a bottommost caste and you haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe they just hate you. 

Anyway, you’re eating somewhat. Pizza, mostly. Noodles. Shit like that. Captor’d be proud, if he wasn’t busy being a god. They all are, they’ve got temples and everything. Each of them’s got titles upon titles and crowds of worshippers, and you haven’t stuck around to find out if they’ve got real powers too but people certainly seem to feel their prayers are being answered, from what you hear. 

You stay at hive and keep out of the way, because you’ve got temples too. 

 

They’re full of angels. 

 

Carvings of them, at any rate, and the stonework’s a pitch-perfect match to the shit on your land, closer than any memory you were able to muster in the bubbles. The one you went in was fuckin’ empty. Can’t say as you blame anyone, you’re supposed to be the god of wrath and death and somesuch, ushering lost souls to the afterlife by the light of your wand and rifle. Supposed to represent storms and spite and scorned love. 

You’ve stayed home, since. 

You prefer to read. 

 

And the thing is, you’re in all the goddamned books too. All these new-world idiots were obsessed with the lot of you, seems like, because there’s practically half a million volumes of speculation and mythology and prophecy about you all. It’s taking you ages to work through, partially because you’re having to stop and take notes on everything and partially because it’s fuckin’ exhausting on an emotional level. You’re remembered for nothing so much as all your mistakes. Nobody else, not even Makara, has that dubious honor. Sympathy’s apparently reserved for other people.

But you keep going, and you keep trying to work through your pile of library books as the perigees slog by, and one day (you’re diurnal now, on account of everyone else is too), you stumble across something odd. Odd enough you shut the book and turn back to your  _ Incomplete History _ to try and not think about it.

 

It’s a prophecy, it says, from a dead troll from an ancient world. 

It talks in vague, convoluted terms about an ancient sea-lord and two warmbloods struggling to survive, and it goes on to talk about their second coming, where they’ll–

 

– there’s someone at your door. Knocking. 

It’s loud, and you can’t get away with ignoring it. 

You keep the  _ History _ in hand and get up, peering through the little hole. Young rustblood kid on the other side, not more than nine. He’s wringing his hands and trying hard not to look like he’s looking at you through the peephole. Which he is.

He jumps when you open the door, and you tamp down the restless urge to feint a lunge at him and see him flinch, for now. Upon seeing you, he launches into a small speech:

“O Your Devastation, o Lord of Angels, we humbly beg your forgiveness for interrupting your solitude, but it’s-- “   
He seems to gag a little on the words, and surreptitiously checks a piece of paper in his hands. 

“ – it’s, um–  _ sorry _ , sir, it’s– - I promise this doesn’t usually happen, it’s… time to bring to fruition the prophecy we’ve been waiting so many, um, th– thousands of sweeps to– to see completed. The timing is impeccable, the stars have lined themselves up into the sky in your symbol, and if– if it pleases you, we– er, I’ve been charged with helping you to prepare.”

 

You bare your teeth at him, mostly because you don’t know what else to do and this kid’s freaking you out in a major way. He squeaks and shrinks back from you. You feel a little bad despite yourself.    
“What fuckin’  _ prophecy? _ I wasn’t made aware a’ any of this, grublinks. Drop the script, why don’t you, and give it another try explainin’ it to me, because I’m still not convinced you got the right person in the first place. You all ain’t seem to care much for me on this planet.” 

 

“We’ve had a residence consecrated and ready for you for  _ millennia _ , sir, but you seemed to prefer to get settled on your own so we–”

He shuts up at a glare. You narrow your eyes even tighter and let out that hind-pan growl you’ve been holding back, and enjoy the sick rush of bloodlust that sings through you when you catch a whiff of his fear pheromones on the air. 

“... we thought it, um, we... thought it best to leave you alone.”

 

“I’m thinkin’ youre right. And I’m thinkin’ that’s how you shoulda  _ kept _ it.”

 

“I’m  _ sorry, _ ” he bursts out. “I’m  _ sorry, sir, _ god, it’s not my choice, we–  _ have _ to do this, it’s now or never. My mentors have been waiting since the hatchdays of their  _ ancestors _ for this to happen and it is absolutely  _ vital _ that you come with me, right  _ now. _ ” 

You’re forced to consider. 

You could kill him, if you wanted. 

 

It would be too easy. You’re older and bigger and you’ve seen things straight out of his fiercest daymares. He’s dust beneath your royal heel, he’ll be dead anyway before you’ve even finished a quarter of a molting cycle. 

But then the thought occurs to you that you’re making history right now. And really, to be really, truly honest, you’re sick of being the bad guy. 

 

You follow him. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> there's a whole lot more to come– chapters 2, 3, etc. are all on their way!


End file.
